Everything Is Your Choice
by Shawtymanex42
Summary: Kyle has lost everything, little does he know that Cartman is still, and will always, be there. Meanwhile, although Kyle may be helpless that doesn't mean he can't control Cartman. Rated T. Kyman. ANGST. Hope you like and reviews are appreciated!


Cartman's POV

In the Verona of our chaotic, sleepy, hellish, podunk existence we were lovers with our stars tied neatly and intentionally with illicit, dangerous enthusiasm. We plagued our own houses zealously, waiting by our snow-covered windows and crying out for each other. One lover to another. Predator to predator. Pray to pray.

Foolishly, I thought I was the wolf, with his striking, scarlet curls clinging to my matted fur. But I was caught in his jaws many times, impaled on his teeth, my blood a heady aphrodisiac to lull us both. Who would've thought that our hearts both beat, innocent and pure in the cage of a beast. Savage, at that.

My Kyle is beautiful. Simply breathtaking. Crafted in the cosmos, his virtues are kisses from the constellations themselves. Before, well before the inevitable, Kyle never trembled, his tears were sturdier, more deserved and courageous than the tears miscreants cry. They crystalized, snowflakes, memorable because he'd make sure that you would never forget. He commanded your attention with every double-edged word that rolled of his acidic-swathed tongue. He commanded your attention with every solemn glare, every disinterested gaze and every flowered smile that bloomed effortlessly.

Before, well before the inevitable, being unnerved was a notion too elusive for Kyle. It's the case for most overpowering people, I should know. But I'm obnoxious, difficult, arrogant and irredeemably scornful. Kyle was a hurricane who seized hold of people, tore them up, teased them and let them into his heart too easily. Kyle gave you everything, sometimes to a fault. He was the reflection of colors the sun is generous to illuminate the world with. And Kyle was the golden boy, controlling the interest of the universe, aligning the stars that bore him and sleeping on a hammock supported by the sun and the moon.

And I hated him. So much so that I fell in love with that hatred before it hit me... It was him. Only him. I imagined him cackling, like he knew all along and I smiled.

The punchline, the cruel, bitter inevitable was that Kyle was going to break, drain of color and deceive himself. Not knowing when or how or where or why. The wax would slither down his back and he could crash, smothered by the tides he once controlled.

* * *

Kyle nodded his head, counting the same things in his emptied, desolate head. Cancerous thoughts were visceral, feeling them rather than injuring himself by daring to verablize, articulate these evil thoughts.

He'd been gone for a month and once he had stopped screaming they let people in. I sit here, silent and numb, ammonia scratching my throat and lungs as I take wasted breaths.

His dry, cracked lips formed into a pitiful excuse for a smile when he saw me. His medicated eyes played a scene, a runaway train of memories, emotions and realizations but he let it slip past him. Sadly, so did I.

He's sitting in his chair, bony knees drawn to his chin. Not looking at me. He wears rolled up jeans, one of his favorites, frayed, showing his pasty ankles. He has no shoes, his dirty, smudged grey toes wriggle and flex. His hands try to grasp them, as his arms hang listlessly from the sharpened hinges of his creaky shoulders. The slightest breeze whistles and rattles him, his too-tight t-shirt struggling to stretch over the shield of his meatless ribs. His scleras are red, glistening. And he's pale, so pale. The spheres of his hips clutch to his surely too-big jeans.

"I need you to look after me" His voice peeled from his sandpapery throat, an ocean departing from a shell and the remnants of an echo.

"I don't understand" I reply pathetically. "Why not Stan or, or Kenny?"

Kyle rolls his eyes before sighing in exhaustion "Because only you understand. You love me don't you?"

I nod. His patient band slides helplessly down his wrist.

His voice cracks and he shudders. "Then you'll do this for me"

* * *

Everybody was in love with Kyle. But nobody was more enamored, taken, totally infatuated with him than I was.

So I was a willing lamb to the slaughter. He cried, manic and powerful in his own cult. His own society. Governed by him, he enticed people in but daren't let them say. But he was a soldier. Seeing the evil, the wickedness in me and was quick to extinguish it. But sometimes I saw him drink me in, leaving my emptied carcass to rot in the outskirts of his empire.

Passion was the color of his flag, which now flies half-mast. And when we were together, exchanging the bitterest words or the sweetest desires we were intoxicated with the color, practically giddy.

* * *

So I moved in. Slept in his bed. Oversaw his medication. Took the throne. But the king was still here, wearing his crown low on his head of muted curls.

It perturbed me how he could undress in front of me and not even care. There was no hesitance, no shame, Hell, there wasn't even any sign of attraction or flirtatiousness. He wasn't coy. His expression was blank as layers fell away and he was standing there in front of me. I swallowed nervously and he smiled, almost in pity.

He didn't tremble, no matter how frail he was.

He sat in the bath, hunched. In a similar manner to how he sat when I visited him at the hospital.

I washed his hair and I heard him moan, his skin prickling under my fingers. I stared at the clipped wings, the silken arc of his spine and the soap that clung like desperate pearls to his vibrant hair. Tears filled my eyes and I smiled anyway.

"That's nice" Kyle sighed, his eyes closed and he threw his head back. He blinked his eyes open in a way that was almost playful. "Who knew you could be so gentle?"

* * *

I lay next to him one summer, watching the bonfire crumble. The flames were still thick, crackling and smoldering, hissing black.

I could smell burning pine, heat, freshly cut grass and sweat.

I could hear Kyle smiling, practically taste him.

It was just us. Casualties of a party that never seemed to stop.

* * *

Although we share a bed, I've only ever made love to him once. My first and last time.

Our chaste, sexless relationship was silenced under his demanding kiss. How many ways I held him, I couldn't possibly count. I fucked him mindlessly, inhaling his wanton, pleading cries and moans.

I was on my knees, with him coiled around me, clinging to me like the sweat that glistened on both of us. He moved against me and spoke my name like a prayer. But I remember he breathlessly said; "I love you so fucking much"

I whispered that I loved him too.

Afterwards, we lay together. He turned away from me, rigid and cold. I read him with my fingers, skimming across his shoulder. I kissed along his neck. Trying to provide that gentleness he seemed to love.

"Enough" Kyle mumbled, hitting me with his sharp elbow. Saltwater seeped into his throat as he pleaded "Cartman, please."

I fell asleep.

* * *

Another drunken night in our charming little town.

When Kyle was still an ecstatic shadow on the Colorado snow, I carried him home. He was wasted.

"Thanks dude" He breathed out, speaking to my chest.

I set him down and watched him sway, but he pulled me close and slurred "I really like you, Cartman"

* * *

We bought a piano from this dingy music store. Sometimes I sit on the chair, with Kyle huddled up against me (Because he's always so damn cold and shivering) And I play. When I play I forget about our situation, I don't dwell on the past. I think about the notes and the music I elicit and I think about the cheek resting on my shoulder. Kyle hums to himself, broken and dry. He smiles, which I adore.

I played Moon River once and throughout Kyle nibbled on my ear, kissed my neck and shoulder and murmured "Wonderful", "Spectacular" and "You're amazing."

Once I'd finished, the only sound was the storm outside. Kyle shuddered, his eyes wet. He lifted my hand and kissed each finger with his surprisingly warm lips.

"Thank you" He whispered into my palm. I tilted up his chin and captured his mouth in an equally grateful kiss.

* * *

A/N: If anyone gets what the title references, I'll mail them a cookie. Hint: It's not from South Park. Shockingly.


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